


How'd We Get Here? - One Shot

by ThirstTrap



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Lemon, Light Angst, M/M, Top Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26596954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirstTrap/pseuds/ThirstTrap
Summary: Geralt, tired and injured from an earlier job, is determined to provide for the two men even at the expense of his own body, but after a spicy dream and Jaskier pleading with him to accept help, Geralt ends up in an unexpected entanglement.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 107





	How'd We Get Here? - One Shot

A deep throaty groan left the White Wolf’s lips as he gingerly removed the heavy pack from his aching back and set it carelessly on the dirt that surrounded the two men. The pack slumped onto its side, the metal equipment inside shifted loudly but he paid it no mind as he stood bent over, gasping for what little breath he could draw in. Behind him, he could feel the worried eyes of his companion searching for an answer to the question poised on his delicate lips, ‘Are you okay, Geralt?’. And he wasn’t, his battle today had been an especially hard one and his whole body ached from it. It left him with several broken ribs - which had made the climb up this mountain all the more strenuous as he was fighting for breath not only against the thin air but also against his own injuries - and a deep cut on his right thigh. 

“We’ll camp here for the night.” Geralt fought back another painful groan as he forced himself to stand straight. Reigns in one hand, he walked Roach to a nearby tree and tied her there before moving to unload the packs she carried and remove her saddle. As he raised his arms to untie the rope holding the packs, a surge of sharp agony from his broken ribs sent the man reeling, causing him to stumble back a few steps as dizziness overtook him. Jaskier was beside him in moments, his strong hands wrapped around Geralt’s bicep, helping to steady the Witcher until his vision cleared. 

“Geralt,” Came the bard’s soft voice, the Witcher could tell by his tone that he was worried, “Why don’t you sit down here and rest a bit? You’re exhausted.” Geralt drew in another shaky breath, secretly thankful for Jaskier’s hasty support. Falling would have caused him much more pain and may have even worsened his injuries. 

“I’ll rest when Roach is taken care of.” Geralt’s short reply earned him a loathsome glare from the bard. 

“Let me unsaddle Roach.” Jaskier pleaded as Geralt finally pulled away from him to stand on his own. 

“No.” Geralt was careful to raise his arms much more slowly in an effort to not put a strain on his aching ribs. This time, he was able to reach the ropes without the overwhelming feeling of dizziness from before. He began to untie them gingerly, lips pursed together from the strain, he could feel his companion glowering at his back as he fumbled with the knots. 

“You could let me help you once in a while, you know.” The bard’s sassy remark made Geralt pause for just a moment as he sighed and grunted in annoyance. 

“If you want to help why don’t you get wood for a fire.” It was more of a statement than a request, which was something that always got under Jaskier’s skin. The bard turned in a huff and trampled off into the woods in the direction opposite of Geralt. The Witcher turned as he dragged the packs off of his horse’s back, his golden eyes watched as Jaskier’s back quickly disappeared into the forest. He had a sinking feeling that he would have to apologize for that at some point. A small grunt of displeasure left Geralt’s pale lips as he discarded the canvas bags of supplies down onto the hard-packed earth before moving to unsaddle Roach. As he stooped low to undo the cinch from under the horse’s stomach another wave of pain from his ribs nearly drove the man to his knees. Without Jaskier to help him, he was forced to brace against Roach, who tossed her head in surprise as she felt Geralt’s full weight against her side. The man was again forced to wait until his mind cleared before he could continue, this time hunched over. His breath was ragged and shallow, sweat dripped from his chin and onto the dirt below him, and Roach shifted uneasily knowing there was something wrong with her master. 

Slowly he reached under her and undid the buckle of her cinch, letting both straps hang. The man straightened and leaned his chest into his horse, his hands finding their grips on the other side of the saddle. He stood like this for several minutes bracing his mind and body for what was about to come. 

This was always the worst part. 

With one strong heave of his arms, he pulled the saddle hard into his chest. He stumbled back a step with the momentum and a whole new wave of agony shot jaggedly through his body. His lungs felt like they were burning and a raspy lament was forced out through gritted teeth. More lightning bolts of pain tore through his mind as he shifted his weight until the stirrups and straps slid clumsily off Roach’s back and bounced against Geralt’s thighs, the action causing the gash on one of his thighs to reopen and begin bleeding anew. 

The White Wolf stumbled three or four steps away from Roach before he was forced to roughly drop his saddle into the dirt, one hand shot up to gingerly grasp at his side. Jaskier was right, the man was totally exhausted and the excruciating pain he was in was making what little energy he did have totally useless. 

Teeth clenched against the pain, Geralt sat warily against the tree next to the one he had tied Roach to. The dizzy feeling had returned and he couldn’t help but squeeze his eyes closed against the swirling. One moment he was fighting fatigue and suddenly that weariness took him all at once. 

By the time Jaskier returned, Geralt’s head rested against the bark of the tree, locks of his silver hair had fallen messily over his face which was upturned to the spotty sunlight that filtered through gaps in the canopy of leaves above them. This sunlight illuminated the Witcher’s pale face in patches which danced when the soft breeze rustled the leaves. Geralt of Rivia looked so serene there, as if in no pain at all. 

Jaskier, who was formerly swinging a stick angrily through the underbrush while reciting a winning argument, suddenly found himself strangely calm when his silvery eyes landed on the visage of his sleeping friend. In that moment, the man’s frustrations with the Witcher seemed to melt away. The bard’s posture softened as he heaved a heavy sigh, finally able to remove his longing gaze from his companion’s sleeping form. Jaskier went to work preparing the camp for the evening. After quietly setting the firewood he brought back in the center of the camp, he cleared away spots for the fire as well as space for the two men to sleep. After that, he went to work building the fire - he always had trouble with flint and steel, so this usually took him much longer than it would Geralt - and finally, he needed to retrieve the meat for their dinner from one of the packs Geralt had taken off of Roach. He tiptoed around Geralt and grabbed the entire food pack, his heart sinking at the fact that the pack was a lot lighter than he was hoping. Geralt hadn’t had time to hunt for the past few days, especially now that he was so hurt, and they hadn’t come across any villages either. 

The bard opened the bag as he crossed the camp again and began to unpack it the moment he got back to the fire. Before him, he set a pouch of assorted nuts, dried apples wrapped in cloth, and a waxy towel which held a couple handfuls of salted chunks of meat. Jaskier hummed in disappointment, this wasn’t nearly enough to sustain the both of them and Geralt was too injured to go out and hunt. 

“We’re out of food.” Came the gruff voice of the Witcher who Jaskier had thought was still asleep. The sudden sound of Geralt’s voice behind him had, for some reason, caused the hair to raise on the back of Jaskier’s neck and goosebumps to appear on his arms - he jumped, nearly falling over as he turned to face the Witcher, whose golden eyes were locked on the man before him. 

“W-well, not completely,” Jaskier struggled to recover, “There’s at least enough left for a light snack.” As expected, the Witcher didn’t acknowledge Jaskier’s attempt at humor. Instead, Geralt gingerly sat up - groaning painfully as he did so - and crossed his legs in front of him. 

“Cook it and eat, give me an hour of silence and I’ll go hunt.” With his posture perfectly upright, his hands on his knees, and eyes closed, Geralt began to regulate his breathing beginning the first stages of meditation. 

“Hunt? How can you hunt when you can barely keep yourself upright? I swear, sometimes you are the most stubborn - inconsiderate - man that I’ve ever had the pleasure of traveling with. I mean look at you, you’re practically beat to a pulp and yet you think you’re gonna just get up and prance off merrily into the trees like some kind of- Geralt are you even listening to me?” Geralt didn’t respond, nor did he make any indication that he could hear the bard’s grievances as he complained bitterly to the wind. His mind was completely blank, within him warmth began to swell into a sensation that covered his entire body. It was this healing warmth that he was looking for, slowly his wounds began to mend.

Jaskier, however, was left in unsatisfying silence. He’d seen Geralt get this way a couple times before, but the man never explained what he was doing. Geralt never explained anything. Honestly, sometimes the younger man swore he’d feel more companionship talking to a donkey. The bard skewered several chunks of meat onto a stick he broke off from a branch from the pile of firewood, staked it into the dirt beside the fire to cook without burning the stick, found another stick, and began the process again. He continued until he had three skewers of meat roasting neatly by the fire. Sitting back, Jaskier bit indignantly into one of the dried apples he’d also pulled from the pack. Nothing to do now but wait.

When Geralt finally opened his eyes again, Jaskier was snoozing soundly near the fire. He’d eaten his small meal, but left one skewer of meat and several slices of dried apple on a plate near where Geralt was sitting. Geralt eyed the food, he was very hungry and deeply appreciated the bard’s thoughtfulness. Slowly, he leaned forward and plucked the plate from the dirt. After meditating, his ribs had healed to a degree where he didn’t suffer such excruciating pain whenever he moved. They weren’t fully healed - so he still had to be careful - but at least now he wasn’t suffering as much. The White Wolf ate his meager ration eagerly, consuming it much faster than he would have liked to. Once he finished, he left his plate on the ground where he’d found it and stood. Stooping carefully, he plucked his sword from where it rested against his back pack and strode off into the woods. 

Geralt of Rivia stepped cautiously through the thick underbrush, his cat-like eyes scanned the area around him for fresh signs of deer. However, his mind kept wandering off his task. Instead of focusing on the hunt, he kept finding himself thinking about his unfortunate traveling companion. Specifically, the food the bard left. There was no possible way that Jaskier was satisfied from such a tiny meal, so why leave some? Geralt had told him to eat it all, and the bard knew that he was going hunting anyway, so it’s not like Geralt would have gone hungry. Of course, that means that Jaskier would be getting more food later as well, but still? Plus, Jaskier had been so angry at him today so it didn’t make sense to suddenly be so nice. Geralt hadn’t even gotten the chance to apologize for ignoring Jaskier’s pleas to assist him. 

Fuck this bard was confusing. 

A smudge of tan on the edge of Geralt’s vision caught his attention and he was quickly pulled from his musings. Beside him, a red deer stag stepped silently through the underbrush. The stag had - by now - noticed Geralt’s presence but didn’t yet consider him a threat. Instead, he kept a wary eye on the man while stepping carefully over obstacles. In an instant, Geralt thrust his hand forward, making the sign for Aard. A shockwave leaped from his hand and struck the animal, who stumbled to the ground. The White Wolf used this opportunity to rush forward and plunge his sword between the shoulder blades and into the heart of the stunned animal. The confrontation was over in moments, Geralt gazed at the animal he just hunted, silently thanking it for its sacrifice. 

The man arrived back in camp with his thoughts still focussed on his companion. A companion of which was still sleeping soundly near the fire. Geralt estimated that he’d been gone for at least two hours, but he figured the bard would have woken up by now. He dragged the deer carcass closer to the fire and dropped the back legs that he’d been holding noisily onto the ground. The sound startled Jaskier from his sleep, frantically he gaped around until his eyes finally found Geralt. 

“Oh, oh my god, Geralt,” The bard clumsily clamored to his feet, “Are you okay….now? You look fine - what happened?” The confusion was evident on the smaller man’s face as he looked for and signs that Geralt was still wounded. 

“Meditating grants Witchers minor healing abilities. It makes us capable of healing faster than our wounds would normally, but it makes us oblivious to our surroundings for extended periods of time while we focus on the healing.” Geralt’s voice was a monotone, and he felt like this was more than he’s spoken in weeks. Not waiting for Jaskier to answer, Geralt knelt down and drew a long double-edged knife from his boot. He used it to begin skinning the deer so that he could prepare more meat for dinner and for travel. 

“Right - that's a thing witchers do - nnnnoted. So, what, you’re totally fine now?” Jaskier sat in the dirt where he’d first been napping. Geralt didn’t look up from his kill, 

“No. My ribs are still broken.” He replied gruffly, peeling the hide back with his knife. Jaskier never cared to stick around while Geralt was skinning or gutting a kill. In fact, he’d rather not see a dead animal at all unless it was cooked on his plate. Instead, the smaller man laid back down on his back, he watched the breeze shake branches high above him. Birds flew overhead. 

“I wanted to tell you, ‘I’m sorry.’” Geralt’s eyes stayed on his work, but Jaskier’s dappled irises fell on Geralt’s face. He was completely taken off guard by the Witcher’s sudden apology. 

“For what?” Said Jaskier, still utterly bewildered. 

“Earlier. You-” Why was this so hard? Geralt paused, refusing to look away from his knife, and licked his lips in contemplation before speaking again, “You wanted to assist me because I was hurt. I shouldn’t have been so apathetic about it.” 

Jaskier didn’t know what to say, sure he was angry at Geralt earlier for it, but by now he’d accepted that that’s just how the gruff man was. He never thought Geralt would actually apologize for it. Jaskier was unable to reply, instead, he looked away from the Witcher and back up at the trees, his mind now deep in thought. Geralt preferred it this way, it was already so hard for him to talk to people, but apologizing for something always seemed worse. 

And lately, has it gotten harder to talk to Jaskier in particular? 

‘Nope. Not going to think about that.’ Geralt thought to himself, forcing his mind to focus on the deer that he’d nearly finished skinning in front of him. 

After about an hour and a half, Geralt was finally done butchering the deer. He’d already salted and put away the meat they’d take with them on their journey. Now, Geralt placed a large flat rock as best as he could on the campfire. He let the rock heat completely before using a sturdy stick to carefully pull it out of the flames to rest next to the fire. Finally, Geralt placed one of the steaks of meat he’d just butchered on the surface of the hot rock. The steak sizzled loudly, drawing Jaskier’s attention. The bard had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since Geralt’s apology. He certainly didn’t miss the noise, but seeing the man so withdrawn made Geralt uneasy. 

Geralt used his fingers to flip the steak onto its other side. He could hear Jaskier’s stomach growl at the smell over the sound of renewed sizzling. 

“Get a plate, Bard.” Commanded Geralt, which would have normally earned some kind of torrid response from the smaller man, but today Jaskier wasted no time retrieving a second plate from their packs. Once Jaskier returned, Geralt quickly handed off the steak before placing another on the rock to cook. 

The two men ate in silence, both reveling in the taste of their meals after such a grueling day, but something else hung in the air around them. It wasn’t exactly discomfort, but it felt similar. It was a feeling that caused Jaskier to quickly look away when Geralt caught his eyes lingering for just a few moments too long and likewise caused Geralt’s mind to race whenever their gazes met. 

Why had things changed so much between them? Geralt thought deeply to himself. It had to be something that he was doing wrong, but he hadn’t changed his behaviors since the two had struck out on a journey together. Was it something that Jaskier had just gotten tired of over time? Had the charm of traveling with the Butcher of Blaviken finally faded? Did this unease hang over the two because Jaskier was realizing how unpleasant Geralt really was? He wouldn’t blame Jaskier, of course, the young man was used to the fanciness of upper-class parties, and the slow easy lives of nobles. Instead of a dirty bedroll on the ground, Jaskier should be in a remarkable bed with silk blankets that are embroidered with swirling golden designs. 

What was he doing out here? 

The evening air on the mountain began to turn cold, it seemed to settle around the two men surreptitiously, as if they were cold before they could realize that the temperature was dropping. 

Geralt rose to his feet and crossed camp back to where their packs lay in a mound on the dirt and retrieved their bedrolls. He tossed one to Jaskier, who nearly wasn’t paying enough attention to catch it, before choosing a flat patch of earth to spread his bedroll out on. Jaskier stayed in his spot near the fire and spread his own bedroll, he kept his doublet on for extra warmth. 

The man decided to leave his clothes and boots on as he settled down in the coarse canvas of his bedroll. The ground beneath him was packed hard, every lump prodding uncomfortably into his body. The worn-out cotton blanket was pulled tight over his shoulders, and yet he still found himself unsatisfyingly chilled. He tossed in his spot in the dirt, casting a quick glance at Jaskier whose back was to him. His companion breathed deeply and evenly, likely already sound asleep, kept nice and warm by the fire. 

The Witcher laid his own head back down and shifted once more in the dirt, before finally closing his piercing yellow eyes. The dull ache of his ribs a distant memory as his body finally surrendered again to sleep. 

Geralt did not dream often. At least not in this capacity. Usually, he just got feelings or glimpses of scenes, sometimes just vague colors. Unless it was a nightmare, those he always seemed to remember vividly. 

But this, there was nothing else this could be but a dream.

It was glaringly bright in the posh bedroom Geralt of Rivia found himself in. He was laying in a bed surrounded by soft linen blankets dyed red to show the wealth of the owner. He drank heartily from a pitcher of sweet wine that had been placed on the bed stand next to him, as he returned the pitcher to the stand, a wave of pleasure washed over the man which caused his head to roll back as a shaky moan drifted from his slightly parted lips. The man tilted his head down to find the source of his ecstasy, his brow furled from the pleasure. 

Between his legs, a head with long dark brown hair bobbed briskly up and down. She shifted to position herself low in order for her to look up at him. His inviting gaze met her deep hazel eyes, her plump lips were wrapped tightly around his sturdy shaft, which she massaged eagerly with her mouth while her hands worked skillfully on his balls.

Geralt grunted breathlessly, pressure building at the base of his spine. He knew he was close, it had been so long, his body yearned for the release - but his mind craved being close to someone even a little longer. 

The man sat up and placed his palm on the back of the woman’s head all in one fluid motion. He laced his fingers in her smooth hair and guided her up until her lips met his. She melted into his embrace, her hands roaming his torso. Her lips were so soft and full, he relished the sensation of his tongue gliding across them, before they parted for her tongue to meet his. They embraced each other earnestly, Geralt supporting her plump frame in his strong arms until he was able to position himself over her. She laid delicately beside him, he propped himself up on one elbow, while his other arm stretched over her, supporting him from the other side. This gave her the opportunity for her hands to continue to explore his body as his lips pecked their way down her neck to her collarbones. He nibbled and sucked lightly on her skin, causing a breathy moan to escape her lips, 

“Geralt, don’t stop…” The woman moaned, but it wasn’t her voice that Geralt heard - it was Jaskier’s. 

In an instant Geralt was awake. He was laying on his side, staring out into the forest. The rest of the camp was behind him. The man was panting, and sweat clung to his skin under his clothes and blanket. 

And worst of all, Geralt was _hard._

‘Fuck.’ He thought to himself angrily, what was that? What was that dream? The woman? And why was it so vivid? 

And… did he hear Jaskier’s-? 

Geralt mashed his eyes closed, doing his best to regain control over his breathing and his racing heart. He could see her face still fresh on the back of his eyelids. The way she writhed in ecstasy under him. He could nearly still feel the way her hands roamed his body… 

As he pictured her, his own hand traced slowly down his torso before resting on the swollen cock which throbbed in his trousers. He’d been so close in his dream. His breathing hitched for a moment as he freed his phallus from his restrictive clothing, his body reacting immediately to the touch. 

He stroked himself slowly as he recalled the woman’s lips that had been so eagerly wrapped around his cock, he pictured it. The way her eyes held his gaze and she worked. How amazingly her tongue felt. Geralt stifled a moan, his free hand roaming his chest just like hers had been in his dream. 

He continued on like this for several minutes. His breathing became quicker and more shallow as he thrust against his own hands. His moans were beginning to grow harder to stifle the closer he got to climax. He was lost in his own ecstasy, whimpering and grinding, building into his climax. 

That’s when he heard it again, the same as his dream.

“Geralt, don’t stop…” Jaskier’s light breathy voice filled his mind, throwing Geralt off and ruining his orgasm. 

“Fucking bard!” The man growled, sitting up in his bed forcefully, thankfully not loud enough to wake Jaskier who was sleeping soundly just a few feet away. Angrily, Geralt stuffed himself back into his trousers, still hard, and clambered to his feet. He needed to take a walk to cool down.

As Geralt began to trudge off into the woods, the sound of Jaskier stirring in his bed made Geralt freeze in his tracks. Had he been too loud? 

“Mm…” Jaskier’s voice was sleepy, “Where are you going to Geralt? It's the middle of the night.” The man yawned and rubbed his tired eyes, waiting for a reply. Geralt felt like his heart stopped beating, could he explain? Should he? If he did, would Jaskier even remember by morning? 

“The fire’s dying.” The man replied at last, a feeble lie. “It's cold, I was going to find more firewood.” Jaskier glanced over his shoulder, stifling another yawn, to find the pile of firewood he’d collected earlier untouched. He gestured to it, 

“There’s plenty over here…” Said Jaskier, but Geralt didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want Jaskier to see the condition he was in, especially not since…

‘...don’t stop…’ Geralt’s cheeks flushed deeply as he remembered Jaskier’s voice again. Why did it seem to get sweeter each time he replayed it?

“Geralt?” Jaskier sounded concerned now. Fuck, he’d been standing there too long. 

Geralt took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and turned around. At some point Jaskier had risen to his feet, and was staring at him with a look of concern and confusion. Geralt found that his eyes weren’t able to hold Jaskier’s gaze, even through the dark, he shifted his glance shyly, unused to this sensation. After all, it was so different with whores. Easier. You told them what you wanted and then paid them to do it. He hadn’t been with many people who were not-whores and of all of them, none were men. Sure, he’d thought about it. Especially with his comrades in Kaer Morhen when they were all growing into being men together, but nothing had actually happened. 

So what the fuck was going on now?!

“Oh. _Oh_ Geralt...you’re…” Geralt’s golden eyes locked on Jaskier’s face instantly, the young man’s gaze drifted up to meet Geralt’s, his face softening from panicked to understanding. After all, none of this was new to Jaskier at all. He had suitors of all genders. So while this experience was mortifying to Geralt, it was a perfectly normal and easily fixable problem for Jaskier. 

Geralt wrinkled his nose in aggravation, his top lip curling to reveal his sharp teeth. The man glared down at the ground, angry with the situation, and turned to leave. However, before he could reach the forest’s edge, he was stopped by a firm hand grasping at his forearm. To Geralt, the younger man’s touch felt like electricity coursing up his arm and into his torso. The sensation was enough to make the larger of the two stop dead in his tracks, he turned, his brilliant eyes searching Jaskier’s calm face, the bard’s half-lidded eyes beamed up sultrily at Geralt.

Geralt of Rivia shivered when Jaskier first touched his bare skin. He hadn’t even noticed when the bard pulled his shirt loose so his hands could glide across his bare chest. The larger man was finally beginning to relax just slightly, his eyes rolled closed while Jaskier continued roaming his chest with his hand, pausing just briefly over the silver medallion the White Wolf carried under his shirt. Jaskier’s touch seemed to melt into his skin. His nimble calloused fingers caressed his chest, Geralt drank in every sensation as if he were parched, his lips parted for more. 

“Wait, Jaskier,” Said Geralt suddenly, his voice raspy. As he spoke, his free hand darted up, clasping Jaskier’s hand through his stiff shirt, stopping the bard in his tracks. Geralt peered down at his companion, the only light came from the dwindling fire, which illuminated Jaskier’s face just enough that Geralt could see the light flush in his cheeks and how eagerly his tongue danced just behind his parted lips. 

“It’s okay,” Jaskier’s voice was breathy and sweet, “Let me help you.” he leaned forward to where Geralt still held his hand through his shirt and kissed the Witcher’s knuckles gently. Geralt tensed, oh how he wanted the release so he’d be able to sleep, but what would this mean for him and Jaskier? Could their relationship be made worse either way? If he lets Jaskier have his way with him, Geralt would be uneasy about it in the morning, but if Geralt refused, especially now after pleading with him - the thing Geralt had to apologize for treating so carelessly earlier - would that hurt the bard more than if he were treated differently in the morning? 

But - gods above - he wanted to.

His cock throbbed painfully in his trousers as Jaskier planted another gentle kiss on the back of Geralt’s hand. Before he knew it, Jaskier had inched forward and pressed the entirety of his lean, muscular, frame against Geralt, who’s eyes drifted closed again at the sensation. This sensation wasn’t nearly like the thick heady sensation he got whenever Yennefer was around, this one spread across his whole body slowly, yet felt light and hot. The faint scent of lavender oil from Jaskier’s hair filled his lungs, the sweet scent hitched Geralt’s breath in his throat, as if his body didn’t want to let go of it. Geralt opened his eyes and admired Jaskier for the first time since he surrendered himself to the younger man’s touch. The firelight bathed the two in bright orange light, which reflected out from Jaskier’s sparkling grey eyes like sunlight finally breaking through a storm. 

Jaskier’s full body pressed against the stone wall that was Geralt’s muscled frame. The bard had one hand under the Witcher’s shirt, the other was still grasping his arm. It seemed as if Jaskier was afraid to let go, else he’d lose this moment. Geralt continued to peer down at the smaller man, even as his pretty face turned up to meet his gaze. As their eyes locked, Jaskier’s hand finally moved from gripping Geralt’s arm, and instead migrated up behind his head. The bard twisted his fingers into the coarse silver hair, at the same time firmly guiding the Witcher’s head down so their lips could meet for the first time. 

Jaskier’s lips were plump and soft, they felt so perfect pressed against Geralt’s own chapped ones. He couldn’t help it anymore and pressed into the kiss firmly, his own hand finding its way into the bard’s deep umber hair, causing an eager whimper to leave the lips of the smaller man. They kissed deeper, Jaskier being the first to offer his tongue to the other, which Geralt parted his lips and received greedily. 

The mountain air still held a biting chill, but the bard still scrambled to remove his doublet. The two men parted long enough to move back to Geralt’s bed roll, when they met again Jaskier made short work of removing Geralt’s shirt. The air made goosebumps rise along Geralt’s bare skin, but Jaskier was so warm he hardly noticed. Geralt was on his back, legs spread apart with each of his heels in the dirt. Jaskier knelt poised between Geralt’s legs, his fingers traced the muscles and scars on Geralt’s chest while he nibbled and sucked on the tender flesh between the Witcher’s throat and shoulder. 

Geralt hadn’t felt a sensation like this before, he laid with his head up and turned to the side, exposing as much of his vulnerability to Jaskier as he could, his brow furrowed in pleasure as light gasps escaped his parted lips. He hadn’t even realized that he’d started to grind his hips against Jaskier’s body. The feeling of Jaskier through the stiff cloth of his trousers was enough to drive Geralt wild, it pleased Jaskier immensely to be able to see his companion in this light. 

Jaskier hummed in delight, his quick nimble fingers making short work of the cloth that covered Geralt’s manhood. The bard glanced down to fully free Geralt of his trousers, his cock throbbed willingly in his hands. As Jaskier faced Geralt again, his lips parted in anticipation, he gave a light coo of arousal. 

“So this is what you’ve been hiding all this time. No wonder the whores seem to love you.” He laughed sweetly, gently teasing the man who was quickly becoming impatient in his hands. 

“Piss off.” The larger man growled back, baring his teeth for only a moment before dissolving again into heavy breaths of stimulation. Jaskier grinned devilishly up at him before sliding his whole body down and positioning his head over Geralt’s thick horsecock. 

Jaskier first mouthed and licked at the base of Geralt’s cock, just above his sac, his hands caressing the shaft using long, firm, strokes. Slowly edging the Witcher deeper into euphoria. Tongue outstretched, he teased the full length of it before letting the tip of his tongue oscillate around the head of Geralt’s penis which was quickly growing slick with precum. 

“Fuck…” breathed the large man, biting his lip to stifle another moan. Jaskier’s capable lips slid easily down the length of Geralt’s manhood, his tongue efficiently worked the underside as he bobbed up and down briskly. Geralt panted, his fingers tangling again in the other man's brown locks, he guided Jaskier’s movements - occasionally holding the smaller man down to the base for just a few moments before letting him bob back up. Geralt’s muscles on his chest and stomach glistened in the firelight as he began to sweat, the musky scent turning Jaskier on even more as the Witcher ground himself into the bard’s talented mouth. Jaskier liked to watch the tantalizing movements of Geralt’s muscles flexing and relaxing beneath him, especially when paired with the deep raspy moans that accompanied it. The things Jaskier could do with his tongue could likely kill a lesser man, and his stamina was unmatched, likely a result of never shutting the fuck up.

Jaskier lifted himself off of the Witcher finally, instead positioning himself again across the larger man’s solid body, which caused only a minor complaint from Geralt’s still-injured ribs. Geralt growled low in his throat at the pain, curling lips brandished the tantalizing whiteness of the man’s dazzlingly sharp teeth. Jaskier watched in awe, before roughly covering the Witcher’s mouth with his own. The tightness in his balls was growing unbearable now, as the two embraced each other again, Jaskier’s trembling hand fumbled to free himself of his own trousers before darting to remove Geralt’s entirely. 

It was this moment that the reality of what was happening finally hit Geralt of Rivia. His flesh felt like it was melting under Jaskier’s adept fingers, his mind was swimming in the ecstasy of desire, but why would Jaskier accept him so readily? With this thought, Geralt opened his golden eyes, which fell on the lightly flushed face of his companion. Jaskier’s eyebrows knitted together in pleasure, his deep storm-grey eyes half-lidded, lips parted as he panted excitedly. Geralt’s own face was calm now, even as he breathed heavily, his tranquil golden eyes searched the face of his friend unhindered by the dark. These eyes which were illuminated by the dancing of the dwindling campfire flames, eyes that had captivated Jaskier entirely. 

“Geralt..?” Jaskier panted, his hands firmly clasped and eager to tug at the waistband of Geralt's trousers that still clung around his hips. The bard paused, waiting in anticipation for the slightest sign of consent from Geralt, who hesitated. Suddenly feeling lost in the enormity of the situation he currently found himself in, is this really what he wanted? Yellow eyes searched for an answer, now holding the lightest tinge of doubt, dulling the shine Jaskier had been lost in only moments before. Finally, Geralt averted his gaze altogether, looking instead to the black canopy of trees and sky above them, his hand drifted down to stop Jaskier’s eager hands. 

“Why are you doing this, Jaskier?” The larger man heaved a disappointed sigh - more disappointed in himself than the bard - the motion causing Jaskier’s smaller frame to rise and fall on Geralt’s torso. His body screamed for release, he wanted the younger man so desperately that it felt as though it’d tear his mind in twain, but he couldn’t shake this feeling that he was doing something incredibly wrong. He’d felt the same on many occasions, most notably a violet-eyed sorceress sprang to the forefront of Geralt’s conflicted mind. He dreaded the thought of the same fate befalling the two men. While they rarely saw eye to eye, Geralt truly enjoyed the company of the bard - well - sometimes. 

“Why?” Jaskier replied in that familiar exasperated tone that truly showed the nobility of the young man, “Because I want to, Geralt.” he retorted, sitting up in a way that made Geralt groan from the new pressure on his aching ribs. Jaskier positioned himself so his arms were on either side of the White Wolf’s head, his face level with the other, separated by a breath. Geralt couldn’t help but shift feverishly into Jaskier’s hips which lay across him between his thighs. 

The fog that had momentarily lifted from the man’s mind quickly returned at the sound of the bard’s sweet voice. In one fluid motion, Geralt rose to meet Jaskier’s lips, the action momentarily startling the man. Geralt’s large hands clasped at the back of Jaskier’s head and neck, cupping his soft skin and tangling his hair. Jaskier quickly followed suit, kissing Geralt of Rivia back fervently while his hips ground lustfully against the Witcher’s waist. 

This time, Geralt initiated the removal of his own trousers, beginning by kicking off his boots clumsily and finishing with Jaskier enthusiastically freeing Geralt of them himself. Jaskier barely took a moment to eye the larger man’s rugged, scarred, body hungrily before quickly repositioning himself between Geralt’s muscular thighs. 

Jaskier knelt on the ground, sitting back on his heels as he sucked two of his fingers into his mouth, wetting them thoroughly, before tenderly massaging the delicate skin of Geralt’s asshole. He teased at the opening with his slick fingers, his other hand stroking the length of Geralt’s shaft. Before he slid a finger inside, Jaskier surveyed the look on his bedmate’s face. Geralt’s eyes were closed, his eyebrows knitted together in blissful pleasure, and lips parted while he lay there breathless.

Satisfied, the bard returned his focus back on his hands which were still working lustfully between Geralt’s legs. He picked up the pace with the hand that was working the length of Geralt’s cock while simultaneously sliding a single slick finger inside. Geralt shivered in gratification, his asshole squeezing the bard’s long finger as it slowly pushed into him, a low rumble bubbled out from his throat before he relaxed around the bard’s touch. 

Jaskier was thrilled at the reaction and he made steady work of pushing and curling his finger against Geralt’s insides while he lowered his body and dipped his head to take Geralt in his mouth again. Geralt’s grunts of desire began to grow louder, happening much more frequently than they were before. The Witcher writhed beneath the smaller man, completely enthralled by the moment. 

Energetically, Jaskier pushed another finger inside just as his mouth sank to the base of Geralt's cock, he held it there - as he’d realize Geralt enjoys - another strained moan pleasing the bard’s ears as Geralt’s dick tensed on his tongue. Jaskier picked up the pace now, gradually twisting and kneading his fingers faster until Geralt was practically singing into the night. 

All too eager now, Jaskier withdrew his fingers and shifted his weight back onto his heels, Geralt was plenty ready now, his ass was slippery and relaxed and Jaskier’s own elation was quickly building to the point of eruption. The bard stroked his own cock, his fingers that had just been groping at Geralt’s insides now worked to spread the precum that had oozed from Jaskier’s overwhelming excitement around the sensitive flesh at the tip of his penis to further lubricate his partner. 

Then Jaskier hooked his arm under one of Geralt’s legs, closing the gap between the two, he held one leg out of the way as his other hand moved to guide himself inside the White Wolf, slowly he sank into the warmth that he’d been dreaming of. 

The two men moaned together as Jaskier began to thrust. Jaskier’s light sing-song voice a stark contrast to Geralt’s own gruffness. Geralt’s mind was a complete fog, as it often was when he was fucking, but the sensation of another man plunging into him was utterly new. He found that even if he wanted to have a complete and coherent thought, it likely wouldn’t come. All he could do was relish in the feeling of being embraced completely by another. 

And Jaskier was keen on embracing. 

The smaller man allowed himself to fall forward, his cock buried to the hilt in Geralt’s warmth, damaged ribs forgotten. He wrapped his arms under the back of the Witcher’s neck, drawing him close so their bodies pressed together. Geralt’s huge hands gripped the bard’s hips, beckoning him deeper inside. Geralt bucked his hips fervently, driving Jaskier’s dick deeper and more forcefully into him. The action had Jaskier on the very edge of climax. The man recoiled one arm from around Geralt’s neck and slid it between their bodies and around Geralt’s cock, his thrusts becoming staggered and desperate. Jaskier’s loud moaning steadily grew more high pitched as his orgasm quickly reached its climax, he buried his cock one final time into Geralt as he erupted. Geralt quickly grabbed ahold of his own cock from Jaskier’s hands and swiftly brought himself to climax as well, his anal walls tensing around Jaskier’s sensitive cock, causing him to shiver in delight. 

With one last breathy moan, Jaskier collapsed into the arms of the larger man. Both men made a thorough mess of themselves, yet neither wanted to make a move away from the other. After this, what happens? Will their relationship change? Is it possible for it to change in a way that could make both the bard and the Witcher happy? The two laid in the afterglow, each trying to think of the same solution to a problem they never thought they’d have.


End file.
